


Kwitnące-płuca

by Ashfen



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: But it's Polish, Hanahaki Disease, Humor, I am the bard that sings happy endings this one time, Jaskier is the main source of comedy in this and honestly we stan, M/M, Original song lyrics, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22387963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashfen/pseuds/Ashfen
Summary: What happens when a bard develops feelings for a Witcher that doesn't seem to have any?And what happens when a Witcher experiences love for the first time since he was a child?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 116





	Kwitnące-płuca

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say in advance that I didn't even _know_ Kaiyo_no_Hime 's hanahaki fic existed until after I started developing this idea, before anyone says that I'm copying. I haven't even read it yet - I grabbed the link so that I could find the author' s name. One of the tags is a reference to one of their own tags on the fic, which I included as a slight nod to theirs. I will be reading Rosemary for memory once I'm completely finished with this, though!

When Jaskier saw the small herbs in his hand, there was only one thing to say.  
 _'Well, shit.'_

There were two things that told him he was really screwed this time: the first one being that these were not the tuberoses he would normally see if he found himself caught by a fit of fancy, and the second one being that there hadn't been anyone to have a fit of fancy over in weeks. Well, no one except the one person he'd never be able to have.

Now normally something like being "out of reach" would never stop him - hence why a tuberose was so commonly representative of his affairs; nothing said "dangerous pleasure" quite like a married woman - but this was _Geralt_. What if he wasn't attracted to men? Even if he was, Jaskier hadn't seen any signs that Geralt's idea of attraction went beyond physicality.  
So what were his options now that he was in love with the worst person - it was really only one of the worst; the other ones were a lesbian or a straight man - he could develop kwitnące-płuca for?

The most obvious answer was to tell him, but that would be _completely_ and _utterly_ humiliating when Geralt inevitably looked at the bard like he was a dunce - he was one, it just didn't always show - and bluntly reminded him that Witchers couldn't feel human emotions such as love, so that wasn't an option; he didn't need to be ridiculed on _top_ of being doomed to die a pathetic death. He _could_ always hide it from Geralt. But how long would it last? What would he do if Geralt found out? It was too risky.

That left him with only one option: run away and hope that Geralt wouldn't care enough to look for him, and pray that he'd never find out what happened. He'd been away from their camp for the night to work on his latest ballad, so all Jaskier had to do was sneak back and grab his satchel without waking Geralt - something much easier said than done, considering Witchers had superhuman senses.

Miraculously he managed to not wake Geralt despite _somehow_ managing to walk over all of the loudest leaves and twigs - he even fell flat on his face! - and Geralt didn't even flinch. Upon returning to his former composing spot, Jaskier cast a lone glance back at the dying fire before he began what he already knew would be a ridiculously long walk.

  
•

Geralt remained motionless as he listened to Jaskier walk away, staring straight ahead at Roach. How could anyone - Witcher or otherwise - sleep through someone as noisy as the bard walking on every twig imaginable?  
Jaskier wasn't one to sneak away in the night - what was he doing that couldn't wait until morning? Or perhaps it was something he didn't want Geralt to know about.  
For now however, he'd let the bard go: tracking him could wait until morning.

As expected, all of Jaskier's belongings were gone with him when Geralt awoke, only making him more intrigued. Just what was the bard doing? Why was he so determined to keep it secret? Rising from his bed roll, Geralt began to pack his things again as Roach huffed some.  
"He likely hasn't gotten far - you know how slowly he walks."  
She snorted in response, and Geralt smiled some before closing his eyes and isolating the lingering scent of lavender and spice.

The pair followed Jaskier's scent for a few hours - it seemed the bard had walked through the night - before it entered a thick grove, the track becoming fresher by midday.  
Beside an old and gnarled tree stump, the Witcher found a journal still opened to some half-finished lyrics.

_Oh, she spoke_   
_Of the whispering winds_   
_Tales of monsters and glory_   
_And of a ghost's footprints._

Something something  
Nice rhymes, pretty words  
Clever innuendo  
This line doesn't matter since I'm  
gonna have an awesome chord here

Geralt didn't bother reading the rest. Jaskier was the only bard he knew that would decide the content of a verse didn't matter because of a nice sounding chord - granted he didn't know many bards, but that didn't seem like proper form for writing a ballad. Harsh coughing could be heard nearby and Jaskier's scent was strongest in that same direction, so further in the Witcher went.

Of all the things he had expected to find at the end of the trail, the bard kneeling and choking up short strands of some herb was not one of them. Geralt was standing over him within moments, and silently waited for Jaskier to shakily catch his breath.  
"What is that, basil?"  
"It's coriander. Turns out kwitnące-płuca can produce any plants; flowers are just the most common. Pity the poor fool who has a tree growing in their chest huh?"  
"Hmm."

_Kwitnące-płuca_ \- flowering lungs. Roughly half of the Continent's population carried the disease that could turn something as simple as love into a deadly risk. Most believed that the disease had originated in the elves and spread to humans, but there had never been a reported case of an elf developing kwitnące-płuca - even simply having elvish blood seemed to spare you from the disease. No, this affliction was born in humans, and it would die in humans.

Kwitnące-płuca seemed to lie dormant until the afflicted developed feelings of romantic love towards another person; it was then that the afflicted person's lungs would begin inexplicably blooming flowers - some of which would be coughed up by the host - until the plants completely restricted the afflicted party's ability to breathe, and they died.  
For some reason, if the afflicted received definitive confirmation that their object of affection truly returned their feelings, the flowering ceased, and any flowers that had already developed wilted without trouble.

Of course, it wasn't unheard of for people with kwitnące-płuca to develop repeated cases, and in their time traveling together Geralt had seen the bard go through many a case, but this was the first time he'd seen him form anything other than a flower.  
"Who is it for?"  
"I assume you plan to take me to them?"  
"I do. Who is it for?"  
"Don't even trouble yourself; it's hopeless."  
"You don't know that for sure. _Who is it for?_ "  
"Why are you so intent on knowing?!"  
"Why do you _think_ , bard?!" By then the other had risen to his feet again, and Geralt didn't allow for more than a hair's breadth of space between them as his tone softened. "I can't lose you, Jaskier."

"Oh," The bard no doubt had intended it as a scoff, but what came from him was a whisper as soft as a sigh. Behind Jaskier's pained expression, his eyes gave away a brewing storm as he weakly laughed. "well that's just unfair, isn't it?"  
"Unfair?"  
The storm found its way to the outside. The bard's voice trembled with emotion as he threw his hands up in defeat.  
"You say you can't lose me but-- but _you're_ the reason it's hopeless. You've caused your own downfall, it's-- poetic justice at its finest!"

Jaskier was laughing and crying all at once, and all Geralt could do was stare in dumbfounded confusion.  
"How have I caused my own downfall?"  
"You don't get it, do you?"  
"I wouldn't be asking otherwise."  
He did get it. But he refused to believe it. The bard buried his face in his hands as he shook.  
"It's you. All of this has been for you." Jaskier's usually boisterous voice was quivering under the weight of his words, and for the Witcher the world around him seemed to spin. "I told you it was hopeless."

Something deep and primal in him wanted to scream and destroy everything in a mile radius. Another thing even further repressed wanted to cry with the bard. "Why on earth would you love something like me, Jaskier?"  
The other's head jerked up slightly, and he tensed.  
"Geralt, did you-- did you call yourself some _thing?_ "  
"Are you really about to lecture me about this _now?_ "

"After the night I had running from you? _Absolutely_. I haven't slept at all, Witcher. I didn't _get_ to sleep because I was too busy running from the fact that you'll go through hell and back just to make sure that a child doesn't get hurt. Every step of the way I had to push back memories of how protective over Roach you are, and how you fight for what's right. You swear you're not human, but you're one of the most humane people I've ever met, and I'm not letting you think of yourself as anything less _just_ because you experience emotion differently than I do!"

Geralt couldn't focus enough to actually hear the bard but he knew what Jaskier was saying all the same, his thoughts seeping into a muddled mess. He was a Witcher. Witchers weren't human. Witchers didn't feel emotion, and they certainly didn't experience this… _muddiness_ he was going through. He hadn't felt anything like it since he was a child, it was as if he forgot the name but had always known what it meant.

Was this love?

Was love supposed to be a warm muddled mess? He certainly didn't _hate_ Jaskier, but could that mean this was love he felt? Geralt scoffed lightly.  
"You didn't even run, did you?"  
"I walked at a brisk pace but that is entirely besides the point."  
 _Oh._ The muddiness only worsened as he managed a defeated smile. This really _was_ love, wasn't it?

He took the bard's hand, and couldn't help but chuckle softly at how startled he was.  
"Jaskier?"  
"Huh?"  
"Never change." Geralt kissed him. Jaskier seemed frozen for no more than a moment or so before he was kissing the Witcher back, and Geralt was reluctant to pull away. "Is that any better?"  
"Wh-"  
"Your chest, bard. Does it still feel restricted?"

Jaskier paused and took a few deep breaths before looking up at him.  
"No, not at all. It's… clear." As the words left his mouth, Geralt could see the wheels turning in his head. "Wait. It's clear. That means you-- you _love_ me!"  
"That's generally what that means, yes."  
" _Geralt_ of Rivia, the _White Wolf_ , the Witcher who _insists_ that he's not human and doesn't feel emotion _loves_ me?"  
"He's about to lose that love if the bard keeps this up."  
"You _do_ realize that I have to write a song about this now, right?"  
"Aren't you already writing a song?"  
"You saw that? Mm… I guess I should let you hear it - it is about you after all."  
"Is it?"  
Jaskier pulled back to grab his lute with a wide grin.  
"Listen for yourself!"

" _Oh, she spoke_  
 _Of the whispering winds_  
 _Tales of monsters and glory_  
 _And of a ghost's footprints._ "

"'She'?"  
"I have to be a bit more subtle in song. Don't worry, I made sure you'd have a full figure."

" _When the spark of excitement_  
 _Ran through her eyes,_  
 _It took just one look_  
 _Ere I knew she'd be my demise._

_The silver huntress_   
_Has cornered her prey,_   
_And as my life goes_   
_Her gaze commands me to stay._

_Oh my love does not falter,_  
 _Nor does my pulse quicken._  
 _She rips through my heart_  
 _As I bleed out - love-stricken._ "

"Then I'm gonna put some super cool lute interlude here before continuing like this with some kind of... drum backing, or something."

" _O maiden of blood,_  
 _A damsel of beasts._  
 _A fair dame of slaughter,_  
 _And I am her feast._

_Willing victim am I,_  
 _Gladly caught by her claws:_  
 _She drains me of life_  
 _As I cry 'I am yours'._ "

"Did you seriously rhyme 'claws' with 'yours'?"  
"It works! Anyway, once I finish there'll be a lot more, but for now let's skip to the end."

" _Wolf cloaked in silver_  
 _Stares into my soul,_  
 _I've died thousand times over_  
 _So you can be whole._

_For payment I ask_  
 _Not for glory or gold:_  
 _All I plead is your story_  
 _To finally be told._ "

Geralt was silent as Jaskier strummed the last few notes.  
"Thoughts?"  
"That didn't make any sense."  
"It did! You just don't appreciate art enough to understand it!"  
"I appreciate art, Jaskier."  
"Oh yeah? How?"  
"Well I appreciate you don't I?"

The Witcher would smile to himself for _weeks_ about the absolutely flabbergasted look on Jaskier's face.

**Author's Note:**

> I think the moral of this is that I don't know how to write lyrics  
> Working title The Bitcher


End file.
